


Drifting Lifeless in a Void

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Series: Adopted Prompts [8]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Children in a War, Drug Addiction, Drug Use for Pain Management, Eye Horror, Eye Trauma (Glass Shards), Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Infection, Lots of Hurt, Melida/Daan, Unhappy Story, blinding, hopelessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 15:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14358375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: The Melida/Daan conflict did not end with Obi-Wan returning to the Temple. Instead, something much worse happened.Just how much worse, Qui-Gon Jinn is about to find out.





	Drifting Lifeless in a Void

**Author's Note:**

> Again, a fill for Moddy's Prompt Run on tumblr, where Moddy releases prompts they will not fill for others to take instead.
> 
> Original Prompt:  
> Obi-wan didn’t go back to the Order after Melida/Daan, then he fell in a downward spiral into spice addiction. Qui-gon meets him some years later.

 

He fought. For the Young, for Melida/Daan, for his own conscience.

He fought until a grenade shattered a window and sent shards of glass into his eyes.

And after that, he writhed.

 

* * *

 

_“Hold him still!”  
“I can't!”_

_“We have to get it_ out  _of his eyes.”_

_“Obi-Wan, hold still!”_

_“Hey. I have something that could help him.”_

_“What?_ No!  _That stuff is_ gross! _”_

_“Cerasi... it's all we've got to give him.”_

_“He wouldn't want to use that stuff!”_

_“It's either 'that stuff,' or he feels it when we pull the glass out of his eyes!”_

_“Cerasi? What do we do?”_

_“I— yes. Yes. Just do it.”_

_“Obi-Wan, breathe in.”_

_“No. You need to breathe in more sharply, Obi-Wan. Through your nose. Sniff, really hard.”_

_“That's it.”_

_“Is it working?”_

_“Oh, thank—”_

 

* * *

 

A pair of rusty tweezers had to do.

One person to peel back one set of eyelids, another reaching the tweezers in to grip the shards and pull them out, one to hold the metal plate the bloodied pieces clinked into.

The one holding the tweezers threw up.

Cerasi steered him back to her still friend.

The young Jedi lay dead to the world, not feeling any of the pain through the thick fog of drugs _._ She'd never thought she would  _agree_ to let one of her people be dosed, but...

She was glad Ator had his habit. It was a horrible, terrible thing to think, but she  _was,_ because Obi-Wan's pain had been frightful to behold.

 

* * *

 

_“Oh, gods, oh, gods—”_

_“I'm gonna be sick—”_

_“Is that his_ eye _?”_

_“Put it back!”_

_“No, no, no! If it came out, it's dead, and if you put it back, it'll rot in his head!”_

_“Cerasi—?”_

_“Th—throw it out.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_“I— yes. Yes.”_

_“Then... then we're done.”_

_“At least he still has_ one  _eye.”_

_“He won't be able to see out of that one either, dummy!”_

_“What do we do?”_

_“Everyone, stop talking. We need to rub the salve over the one eye and into where the other one used to be. It'll get infected otherwise. I'll do it.”_

 

* * *

 

He surfaced, pain hitting him almost as swiftly as consciousness. Noises escaped him, so  _many_ of them , though he had always tried to keep quiet when in pain.

This was like nothing he'd  _ever_ experienced before.

Something was shoved underneath his nose, and the command to  _sniff_ came again.

He obeyed, vaguely remembering the pain had gone away last time.

It did again.

Gratefully, he sank into the ethereal arms waiting to banish his living nightmares.

 

* * *

 

_“We have to contact the Temple. He needs healing.”_

_“We_ can't.  _The off-world comms are still being jammed.”_

_“His eyes are infected.”_

_“One eye. And one eye hole.”_

_“Don't be_ like that _! All of it's infected! He's got a fever, and the salve isn't working!”_

_“Maybe he can contact Master Jinn with his mind.”_

_“Ask him.”_

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan didn't know why they dragged him up from the soft, warm,  _painless_ emptiness.

“Obi-Wan, your eyes are infected. You need to contact your Master.”

A ragged laugh welled up from the thirteen-year-old's throat. “He cut our bond. I can't reach him anymore.”

“He—? Okay, then can you heal yourself? Jedi can do that, right?”

Obi-Wan tried reaching for the Force, but it shied from his mind, his brain too wracked by pain to focus enough to touch it.

No.

He wouldn't be healing himself.

_I'm going to die here._

The Young talked among themselves a while longer, but Obi-Wan could make no sense of their words, and finally the one thing that  _did_ make sense in this wretched wilderness was offered.

He inhaled the powder and waited for it all to go away again.

If only it would go away forever.

 

* * *

 

They only roused him for a few moments the next time, and that was only to tell him that Cerasi was dead.

In that moment, Obi-Wan found he couldn't  _bear_ the loss of his eyes, couldn't  _bear_ the loss of life on this Force-forsaken planet, couldn't  _bear_ the way the Force danced out of reach when he needed its healing touch the most.

 

* * *

 

They'd been found.

Soldiers would be coming through here any moment, to kill them all.

Young bolted down the hallways, leaving everything behind in a desperate attempt to survive.

Obi-Wan had come to in the commotion, had tried to drag himself up, and had fallen on his forearms.

Small feet paused beside him. Ator whispered, “I'm sorry,” and a package was tucked under his hand.

Obi-Wan clutched it tight, knowing what it had to be.

The powder that kept him sane.

The powder that would allow him to die with as little pain as possible.

Silence fell over the tunnels.

Obi-Wan dragged himself upright and staggered forward, trying to sense his way with the Force, but again, the pain was too wretched, burning like fire in his eye sockets. He didn't make it very far before sliding down the wall to the floor.

The pain had to be lessened if he was going to escape the coming murder.

_But if I take too much..._

Everything would become murky, and he would simply listen with distant numbness as they put the muzzle of a blaster to his forehead and put him down like an animal.

Would Qui-Gon even know?

A sobbing chuckle wrenched its way out of him.

He'd stayed to help.

He'd lost his sight, but it hadn't done any good.

_He_ hadn't done any good.

Obi-Wan parceled out a tiny portion by feel, lifted a trembling hand to his nostril and dragged air in to aching lungs.

As the world slipped away out of his grasp, he had a moment's panic—

_Not small enough—_

And then nothing really mattered anymore.

Even the soldiers when they came.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan came to awareness to discover himself lying on a street corner.

The infection in his eyes was gone, and a bandage had been wrapped around them.

They hadn't killed him. They'd healed him, then... dumped him out to live or die.

Obi-Wan searched his body, but...

They'd taken his powder.

He heard a low whimper, realized it was his own. He planted a shaking hand against the duracrete, wondered how in hell's name he could get more.

_It doesn't hurt anymore,_ some distant part of his mind reminded.  _Find the Young, find the Force again, help them. Do what you came here to do._

But wasn't that amusing?

_I came here to die._

None of them had known it at the time, of course. But a thirteen-year-old, save a world? Survive a war? He'd been full of conviction and hope, but where had that gotten him?

Blind and alone on a dirty road.

Abandoned.

By choice, in the case of Qui-Gon. By unavoidable forces, in the case of Cerasi. By pain and now jitters, the Force.

This was where Obi-Wan Kenobi ended. A miserable, broken failure. Qui-Gon had been smart, to get out before he got sucked down too.

Now?

All that was left was to get his hands on some powder to make the waiting for death to arrive less agonizing, because he couldn't bear it. He couldn't. Oh, Force,  _no—_

 

* * *

 

“Why does my only guide have to be...  _him_ ?” Qui-Gon murmured, feeling exhausted even if his mission had only begun.

He didn't like being back on Melida/Daan, even if ten years had passed.

The war had ended, a couple years after...  _after,_ and the planet had been rebuilding ever since.

No word had ever been heard from...

_Him._

He'd be twenty-three now, probably a successful businessman, or a police officer, or maybe an official in the newly-established government.

Or perhaps he was a gardener in a small village with a family of his own. A wife or husband, and a little baby with tufts of hair as red as Obi-Wan's own...

Qui-Gon had fought the Council about the need to send  _him_ to this place.

They fought back, insisting since he knew the people and had experience, he  _had_ to go.

But...

Last time he'd been here, he'd had a Padawan, and Tahl had been alive.

And now...

Now everything was different.

And it hurt.

Plus he needed a guide to the tunnels beneath the rebuilt city, and the only people familiar with that labyrinth were the drug runners— who refused to show him the way no matter how much he offered them in return— and one...  _other_ option.

The drug-addled being sprawled against the ground and back wall of a dingy bar.

Either Qui-Gon could get lost down there and hunt his quarry for days...

Or  _try_ to get something useful out of the wreck of what was left of a human.

Next time a murderer fled Coruscant, Qui-Gon hoped his homeworld was  _not_ Melida/Daan.

He toed the broken creature's hole-ridden shoe with his own boot.

“Hello? Are you awake?”

No movement. It almost didn't look like the man was even breathing.

“I was told you need another hit, and that you act as guide in exchange for... feeding your habit.”

The figure stirred, stared up at him from beneath long, greasy brown locks.

Qui-Gon felt startled as he saw one heavily-scarred eyeball, and an empty socket. Other scars peppered his face.

_From the war,_ Qui-Gon guessed. Something must have blown up.

And taken this poor thing's sight with it.

“You paying?” the skeleton rasped with an offworld accent.

Coruscant, if Qui-Gon didn't mistake it.

Some down-on-his-luck spacer who got trapped here during the war and just never made it home?

Pity tugged at Qui-Gon's heart in spite of the pain this entire ordeal inflicted.

“I'll pay you,” Qui-Gon promised.  _Though not with drugs. I'll get you a warm meal and a shower._

The man dragged himself to his feet, then took off at a slow shuffle to the only passable end of the alley. “Where to?”

“I'm looking for a fugitive from Coruscant. I think he's hiding in the tunnels.”

“Oh, him,” drawled the tired voice. “Yeah. I know where he's staying.”

“You down in the tunnels often?”

“Sun hurts my eyes. Th'guy your lookin'for. Scared. Hiding. Different from the others down there.”

“The gangsters, you mean?”

“The runners stick to their paths 'cause they don't want to be late with their wares.” A smile tugged at the stubbled lower-half of the man's face.

Qui-Gon considered him. “And you? Why are you down there?”

“To avoid the street-cleaning crews and to eat the rats.”

And Qui-Gon couldn't tell if he was telling the truth or joking.

 

* * *

 

It was a slow, painful journey to the opening of the tunnels, and Qui-Gon had just about lost all patience by that point.

_And we haven't even really started yet._

Force help him.

His bored frustration vanished when the vagrant thrashed out a band of awareness into the Force in front of him at the first place where the wall fell away from unwashed fingers into a side-tunnel.

Qui-Gon stared in shock as the rudimentary echolocation steered the wreck into one of the four options, still with much outstretched fumbling of his hands.

“How exactly do you find your way down here?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Air currents,” the other muttered. “Been down here a long time. Know which currents go where.”

Might be true. Or might just be what he  _thought_ was happening.

And then he did it again at another intersection. That rasping flail of Force-use, clumsy,  _painful,_ if the shudder and grimace of the addict were any indication.

“How long will it take to get there?” Qui-Gon asked.

A humorless chuckle wheezed out of his guide. “What, you in a hurry?”

“Just want to be prepared is all.”

“A  _while._ Longer if I get lost.”

_If you get_ lost _?!_

Next time the Council requested something like this from him...

Something skittered to the left, and with a speed that stunned Qui-Gon with absolute disbelief, the broken man pounced on—

_He wasn't joking about the rats._

He was holding it by its broken neck now, his arm limp by his side, continuing on as if nothing had happened.

“You going to cook that?” Qui-Gon asked.

A listless shrug met him. “Hopefully I can get the stuff before I get too hungry.”

The man was horrifyingly gaunt. Qui-Gon was amazed he hadn't died of malnutrition yet. “Then why catch it?”

“'Cause I'm too sober, and I'm  _hungry._ Why? You want it?”

“No, you're welcome to it,” Qui-Gon murmured, feeling that pity welling up again.

“Used to be somethin', you know,” the shambling figure chuckled.

“What? You?”

“What? No, I was never anything. A failure long before the powder took me. These tunnels. Used to be full of life. Hope. Other stupid kark.”

Qui-Gon felt his lip curl. “Life? Children fighting a war they didn't understand.”

“'Dzanybody?” the other shrugged.

“Did you fight in the war?”

“For a day. Then—” a sound mimicking an explosion, one hand flicking fingers open to provide a picture. “Been hell ever since.”  
“The new government has been seeking out the people most hurt by the war. You could probably find a place to live, and real food that tastes halfway decent,” Qui-Gon offered.

Confusion crossed the blind face. “Why would I want that?”

“Because if you have to live somewhere, it might as well be in a place that is somewhat pleasant?”  
“Oh,” chuckled the other with a flash of a smile. “I'm not, though, see. I'm dying. I'm just waiting. 'S taking longer than I thought it would, but I'll get there. Gonna join the Force, 'f it won't spit me back out. Frip. That mighta happened already, come to think.”

Compassion gentled Qui-Gon's next words. “Do you take comfort in the Force?”  
“No,” was the scoffed reply. “Abandoned me, just like the rest.  _Always with you,_ banthakark. Needed it most, wasn't there.”

Qui-Gon nodded, even if the guide couldn't see it. “And yet it still responds when you call to ask which way to turn down here.”

“You think  _that's_ a Force connection? Stars, wait until you meet a  _real_ Jedi, not just a failed one. Your mind'll explode.”

Qui-Gon froze, his blood rotting in a second's time in his veins, his innards falling, his vision tunneling. “You were a Jedi?” he asked, voice faint from lack of air.

“Just in training. Never made it to knighthood. Got left here to die. Didn't even manage to do  _that_ right.”

This— this  _couldn't_ be right. The child had betrayed him, certainly, hadn't been fit to be a Jedi, no, but he could have been—  _should have been—_ a successful private citizen. He had the Force to shield him from the war, sheer determination that would give him the ability to adapt to a new life path—

Obi-Wan Kenobi was happy and  _whole_ and successful somewhere. Not— not  _this—_

“Who left you here?”  
“A man who thought a thirteen-year-old was capable of  _betraying_ him. Must have thought I was a helluva lot smarter than I was. Force knows  _betrayal_ was the last thing on my mind. I just wanted to do what was right. Fripped up thing is, Force only ever helped me make the wrong decisions. Never lifted a finger to make any of the decisions I made for right reasons succeed. Might as well have been wrong ones all along.”

“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon whispered.

The addict paused, turned his head to the side. “Aw, kark. The hallucinations already? I'm not actually getting paid, am I? If  _you're_ here, then I'm just wandering around for no reason, when what I need to be doing is finding powder before this gets worse.”

Qui-Gon couldn't find a word to say.

Instead, his heart seized up and he could only stare at what had become of the earnest, determined child he had once known.

 


End file.
